


DONT L1ST3N TO 4 WORD 1 S4Y (the screams all SOUND THE SAME)

by ClassyFangirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Blood, F/M, implied corpse-smooching, overall grossness, sober Gamzee being a dick, sober Gamzee is pretty much his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terezi runs into Gamzee for the first time since they began their journey. It does not go as well as she would have hoped. (Or it does. It's a matter of perspective.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	DONT L1ST3N TO 4 WORD 1 S4Y (the screams all SOUND THE SAME)

**Author's Note:**

> Serious blackrom for once. Look, this is gross and I cannot believe I actually wrote it and I will understand completely if you get, like, three paragraphs in and never read anything I write ever again.

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you have not been in the mood for drawing with Dave and Mayor Black Licorice for a few days now. This is out of the ordinary for you! You all have your bad days, of course- you are emotional, hormonal adolescents -but you are always in the mood for drawing. But ever since the dream bubble with Vriska's ancestor, you have been...somber. You like your friends a lot (even Karkat, despite his eternal foul mood), but you would not get along well with any of them today. You'd prefer to be on your own for a while, to avoid snapping at anyone.

You should have known right away that today of all days would be when you run into Gamzee.

It starts when you come across the overwhelming odor of death. It makes your eyes water, it is so strong; you steady yourself against a wall and pick out each dead friend. Tavros. Sollux. Nepeta. Equius. Eridan. Feferi. (You were careful to keep Vriska out of his grasp. You wouldn't allow it.) Less obvious is the clown himself, sour grape under a layer of greasepaint and grime. You consider not opening the door. You are not in the mood for chalk, let alone a chat with a homicidal corpse-kisser. You are seriously considering not opening the door. You could walk right by, pretend you never discovered Gamzee's little death room. You do not have to open that door.

You open the door. Of course you do.

"Well, hey, little miss legislacerator," he says. You can hear the dry greasepaint crack as a grin spreads across his face. "How are you this fine motherfucking day?"

He seems, on the surface, like his old self. But you can't smell a trace of sopor on him and there is _something_ lingering just below the friendly mask. "How long have you been in here, Gamzee?"

"Hmm." He drums his fingers on something to his left- Sollux's head, you realize, and you grit your teeth. "That is a good motherfucking question. How long _have_ I been here?" He lifts Sollux's head and studies it, like he is the lead in a Troll Shakespeare play. "Motherfucking long enough, that's how long." He lovingly drives a thumb into the remains of one of Sollux's eyes. " _Suckers_."

You almost ask if he's eaten recently, but you decide that you do not want to know and you do not care. You cannot fathom how much you do not care. In fact, you are overcome with the desire to drive your cane through his long, skinny neck.

(You try to reign in the hatesexy thoughts. You fail miserably.)

"Nobody's seen you in half a sweep," you say.

"Not nobody. I'm a good motherfucking moirail, girl."

"Not that good. Karkat is fraught. More than usual." You realize how sad it is that _Gamzee and Karkat_ are the only people with an officially filled quadrant, even if they are pretty much terrible at it. (Given the circumstances, however, you have to give Karkat some credit. You would not do half as well with a moirail like Gamzee.)

All friendly pretenses are dropped the second you insult his pale capabilities. "The _fuck_ did you just say, Pyrope?"

"You heard me."

He is up and in front of you faster than you can draw your cane from your sylladex. "Are you implying," he growls, " _what I motherfucking think you're implying?_ "

You raise your chin defiantly. "Imply? Ha! A legislacerator does not imply. A legislacerator states facts, Mr. Makara, and the fact is that you are not a very good moirail."

You are disgustingly delighted at the offense he takes. Gamzee slams you against the wall with relative ease; puberty has been far kinder to him than to you. Your cane, lifted up, prevents him from getting closer. (A good thing, too; he smells terrible.) "You are not a motherfucking legislacerator, _little girl._ You know what you are? _You are a motherfucking FLARPing child with an overgrown fucking ego._ "

This close, you can make out the flakes of old greasepaint, the brown bloodstains on his lips, the fine purple scars slashed across his rough-hewn face. Gamzee Makara is completely disgusting. He is practically throwing a bucket at you.

He _notices,_ damn it. His scowl twitches into a quizzical frown (as if he is that surprised that someone could be black for him). You feel him trying to chucklevoodoo his way into your mind, but now that you know what it feels like, it's not so hard to block him out. It's too late, though: he absolutely knows.

You should be ashamed of how obvious you're being! But you have not had anything close to proper black feelings since you and Vriska were still the Scourge Sisters, and hell if _that_ wasn't a confused mess of emotions fit for one of Karkat's terrible romcoms. You've never really, truly hated someone before. It feels _great_.

"You are motherfucking kidding me," Gamzee says. "You have got to be pulling my fucking bone bulge." He laughs cruelly and leans in closer. "Little _Terezi fucking Pyrope,_ do you want to fill a fucking _pail_ with Gamzee Makara?"

He takes the fun out of it. His wicked grin shames your thumping blood-pusher, mocks the heat in the base of your stomach. He drags a thumb along your cheekbone, leaving a streak of mustard yellow behind. Gamzee Makara is being _condescending_ towards you. You are terribly affronted.

"Newsflash, motherfuckers!" he laughs. "Miss Troll Nancy Drew is a _goddamn tramp._ "

You do not have the room to build up much force, but you do have the element of surprise, so he steps backwards when you slam the head of your cane against his nose. You turn so your back is no longer to the wall- foolish to have stayed so close in the first place. "I would rather be a tramp than a murderer," tumbles from your lips before you can hold the wave of hypocrisy back.

His laugh is a long series of honking sounds. It is mildly terrifying. "I ain't even gonna _fucking go there,_ girl. 'Sides my boy- _my most pale brother_ -every fucking troll on this _shitstain of a rock_ is fit to hang." Gamzee grins, or at least bares his teeth at you. "Scourge Sisters to the end, right?"

You unsheathe your blade. A club slides out of his sylladex and into his hand. You are enemy soldiers, it seems, and this is your battleground, surrounded by the rotting heads of your fallen peers. It is quite poetic, you think. In any other timeline, it would make a fitting final stand, but this is _your_ timeline, and it is, therefore, the one that counts. You are not dying in a fight with Gamzee when there is so much more work to be done.

He crosses the distance between you and kisses you hard instead of striking you.

He is all teeth and you are nothing but tongue. It would not be a good combination in the flushed quadrant, but this is black. This is the definition of black. Karkat could write a textbook about romance and use the pair of you as Figure A for caliginous relationships. (You are not usually such a desperate romantic, but you are heady with hormones and malice. It is glorious.)

Your blood is trickling down your chin and Gamzee's. He laps up a teal stripe. "Well, who the motherfuck woulda thought? I ain't too sure about you, little girl, but I sure as fuck would like to do that again."

Smirking, you grasp the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer. "Don't call me 'little'," you snarl into his aural, but you are grinning the whole time.

"I think I am gonna do just as I motherfucking please." Gamzee leans his hips against yours. You can feel his bone bulge growing hard against your pelvis.

"You are disgusting," you say, snaking your hand down the waist of his pants.

He laughs again and bites your lower lip. You return the favor by digging your nails into his inner thigh, scant centimeters away from his bulge.

You hate yourself a little bit, but you hate him so much more.


End file.
